I worry too much about healthcare billz (re: that headline I've seen a million times that says "Why Aren't Millennials _____ [insert very expensive life choice here]??).
So sometimes I put off going to the doctor...for...an unhealthy amount of time. In 2012, I had gallbladder attacks for a solid week until my mother forced me to go to the hospital where, when asked my pain scale from 1-10, I answered "12" with some drool running down my face.
NEAT NEAT NEAT
On Sunday night I noticed a weird dent on my forehead. And when I pushed down on it, there was definitely a groove. And when I released pressure, the skin bounced back. So of course I immediately checked myself in to the WebMd Waiting Room (also known as hell).
We know this. We know that the internet giving us medical advice provides the same amount of comfort that Hitler had in the Spring of 1945. We know, but we still click the search button.
I went to bed pretty sure I was dying. The next day I remembered I had smacked my head really hard on a shelf in our kitchen. Oh yeah.
I am not entirely convinced that the head-smacking was completely harmless. At work, I was typing the phrase "high impact" over and over, and it started to wear on my brain:
I might just leave it there.
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